The Answer: A BBC Sherlock Ficlet
by cupidity11
Summary: 'And in the year or so since John had never felt closer to anyone in his entire life. He would die for Sherlock, probably   die without Sherlock. So, was a kiss really so out of the question? The answer was, no. Not at all.'


"Here John, here! He turned here!" Sherlock felt the need to yell to his stalwart companion who, as always, wasn't that far behind. It was nearly six in the morning and their feet made loud slapping noises against the concrete. Breath came out in dazzling clouds of carbon, and Sherlock couldn't have cared less for the scenery of an awakening London. All that was in his mind right now was the chase.

They spun another corner and sure enough from here he could see the culprit's own figure as it ducked behind another wall, another attempt to lose his tail, to shake them off. The Consulting Detective fought the violate urge to laugh in a mocking sort of way. He wouldn't get away.

"Sherlock! Bloody slow down!" John yelled, not because he couldn't keep up but, because Sherlock was rushing into this and when the mad man did this bad things happened.

Of course said mad man completely ignored his doctor and instead ran even faster, excited breath coming in and out of his lungs. This is what made him feel alive. The thrill of the chase. The ultimate reward for his hard work, the—hadn't the criminal gone down this way? Skidding to a full speed stop that almost had him barreling over, Sherlock gasped in for air and began to turn around. Where had the—a small brushing of fabric against fabric-"behind me."

He barely had time to prepare himself before something very hard and very heavy bashed itself into his head, sending him to his knees and despite Sherlock's best efforts eventually to the ground face first. There was the sound of something metallic dropped and scuffling feet as his offender ran off.

Everything was blurry and pain was all he felt, but of course his mind registered the soft curse and steady turned frantic pace of running shoes against the rough pavement. John.

The good doctor growled obviously caught between pulling his gun out and shooting the retreating figure in the leg and tending to his friend. Sherlock would've preferred the former but, loyalty won out in the end and John dropped to his knees, wide brown eyes flashing back and forth across his friend's prone figure.

"Sherlock? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can bloody hear you." Well, he could almost hear him over the shooting pain in his head. But, years and years of similar injuries had taught him how to take the pain and categorize it for later. Ignoring his body's reaction and John's practical doctor-like movements the consulting detective threw himself to his feet, only stumbling once.

"Come on, John! We still might be able to—"

"Oh no, Sherlock. Stop this instant." John had wrapped both hands around Sherlock's arm and looked pretty unwilling to let go. "We are going home."

"No! If this is because of my head, I've had worse before, John and I—"

"Sherlock. We are taking a cab back to Baker St. You will not argue with me anymore."

"But, John—"

"The bad guy will still be bad tomorrow. Now, come on." Reluctantly, with a sour taste in his mouth, Sherlock followed Johns tugging, knowing if he didn't then John would force him to. As said they took a cab all the way back home. The blue eyed adult, seemingly turned pouty child, stewed silently the entire time.

00**00

"—if we had taken a different direction or perhaps foreseen the way he took. Oh, what am I talking about? My own bloody fault for not noticing when he stopped. I should've seen the signs, listened better or," John's left eye twitched as his hands moved busily over Sherlock's head, quickly and efficiently stitching up his friend. "—there must be some way to avoid such a thing in the future. Oh, I bet that the smug fool is out there now, thinking himself a genius for having tricked me."

The Consulting Detective had been properly sulking for the last hour and a half, putting his pouty lips and naturally brooding expression to good use. John's patience was stretching. "John, do you think if you had gone a bit faster it would've changed the outcome?"

"No. Now, shut it while I finish these stitches. Your constant movements are not helping this go any quicker." Maybe that would make him be quiet. Sherlock hated to be worked on, hated the sensation of the thread being pulled through his skin.

It didn't stop him. "Will there be a better chance than what we'd had right before us? In our grip and now gone!" Sherlock bemoaned his bad luck, turning into quite the child as he always did when things didn't go his way. At least he was still holding onto his new no-smoking goal.

John felt the tension in his entire body. His friend could be the most insufferable human being on the planet. If he was even human! The good Doctor sometimes thought that Sherlock must be some sort of genius alien from another world. Other times, like right now, he seemed like some sort of annoying demon, sent to drive John out of his mind.

And even his war tactics, the ones he used to block out the sounds of bombs and bullets, screaming men, weren't working. Sherlock's mouth kept moving. Words kept coming out in a torrent of regret and whiney-ness. Already, the detective had run his hands through his hair twice, ruining John's stitching work and making the brown curls become all the more curlier and wild.

"Now, God only knows what their next move will be—"John lost it. He felt his seemingly never ending patience snap. His steady hands curled themselves into Sherlock's trench coat collar and yanked his friend forward until their mouths met in a bruising kiss. John had run on instinct, knowing that this might be the only way to shut him up.

It worked. The detective didn't say anything. Mainly because his mouth was busy. And mainly because he didn't remember what he'd been talking about before. Of course, he'd kissed people before. People of both sexes. But, it had never been…real. Always for a disguise, for information. Physical contact was a good motivator, a good way of opening up new doors.

Also, it had never been like…this; his brow furrowed, finding himself painfully aware that no words to describe such a sensation were coming to his mind. And that didn't bother him as much as it should.

It had been bruising. It had been almost painful, an angry attempt to regain some peace, some control. Only now it was softer, deeper. Sherlock's hands experimentally went up to John's hair. The strands weren't soft. But, they weren't coarse either. They tickled his palms. Funny.

John pulled away slowly, his eyes slowly opening to look down at his friend who was sitting on the toilet. Sherlock stared back, never having shut his eyes for the experience. Watson waited for the monumental thought of having kissed not only a guy, but Sherlock, his guy friend Sherlock, to sink it.

It never really did. Or maybe it did and it just didn't bother him. They'd always touched, always been close. Blurring the lines between friendship, partners, and co-workers. It'd always been that way. In the first week together they'd solved a crime, moved in together and he'd killed someone for Sherlock.

And in the year or so since John had never felt closer to anyone in his entire life. He would die for Sherlock, probably die without Sherlock. So, was a kiss really so out of the question?

The answer was, no. Not at all.

He cleared his throat, and finished the stitched up really quickly. "Well, now that that's done…"

Sherlock's eyes swirled with that intense thought process, changing from blue, green and silver. John smiled softly. "Tea?"

The detective blinked in surprise, still feeling a bit off kilter. Without his permission, his body responded and he smiled back. "Sounds wonderful."

Together they wandered out of the bathroom, not feeling the least bit awkward as some people might've. They were Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson after all. What was a little kiss compared to chasing down serial killers nearly every night? However, Sherlock made a mental note to try it again sometime, when they weren't busy doing said criminal chasing. And they did.

_Author's Note:_

_This is a commission I did for Zadow on dA. _

_The prompt was as follows;_

_A BBC Sherlock fanfic (Sherlock/John):  
>- Include tea,' cause John and Sherlock, have got to have tea.<br>- Base their physical appearance off the new BBC series if possible.  
>- Try to avoid an established relationship, do something first time-y<br>- I don't really care how smutty it gets. Often it's better that way.  
>- Try and include John getting really mad at Sherlock, and shoving him against the wall, kissing him (To shut him up or something)? Or the other way round if that works, but I can more easily visualize John getting mad.<br>- Just try to keep them relatively in character._

_Did I do it well enough?_

_This is like my 3rd time writing them and I don't know what I did right or wrong. Critique please?_

_I have a minor break, so I'd thought I'd upload this._

_I don't own the genius that is BBC Sherlock._


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